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Archive for July, 2011

This is pretty much all I got done today.

Some hot sourdough on sourdough action. Can't say this blog isn't tittilating.

That is one happy, spongy lil' sourdough starter.

Let's just pretend that purple manicure is in perfect condition, shall we?

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Before I launch into today’s post, I want to remind you to visit Monday’s post if you haven’t already and enter to win my giveaway!

All y’alls remember my bitchin’ strawberry rhubarb pie recipe, right?  The one that came with a similarly righteous pate brisee/pie crust recipe?  You know, where I talked all about my crippling paranoia.  Oh, nooooow you remember.   Well, misfits, I recently made it again and it remains the best strawberry rhubarb recipe your Bad Mama Genny has tried since then.

I left the burning juices on the cookie sheet in the photo above to demonstrate my humanity. Also, to remind you that that stuff will be on the bottom of your oven FOR ALL ETERNITY if you don't slip a cookie sheet under your pie. So slip a cookie sheet under your pie.

Okay, so it’s the only recipe I’ve tried since then.  Whatever, we play by different logic around here.

So I made this pie and it was wonderful but then I got OH HOLY more rhurbarb and more strawberries in this week’s CSA box.  And I didn’t want to make another pie.

Well, okay, so your Bad Mama Genny DID want to make another pie, but felt that she should abstain.  For the sake of her waistline.  Which will be greatly exposed this summer.  And does not benefit from the copious ingestion of pate brisee.  Go figure.

So I decided instead to make a strawberry rhubarb sauce–one that’s sweetened naturally, just a little, and without that uncomfortable blood sugar spike of sugar sugar SUGAR SUGGARRR SUUGGAAAAHH!

This version will not kick your ass.  At least, not very much.  It’s more like an ass bump.  Which, if you think about it, sounds pretty damn pleasant.

Ass bumps: try them today!

But there’s a story that goes along with this one.  A heartwarming tale of redemption, second chances, and dreams that just wouldn’t die.  Actually, my story is nothing like that.  But it’s still pretty good and I’m gonna make you listen.  Ignore that “X” in the box at the top right of the screen.  It is merely an illusion.  By the magic of My Bad Self you have been rendered unable to navigate from this page.  Just one of the perks of being me, I guess.

So I’m at my family’s house for a visit with all the ingredients for this sauce in tow, and I go, hey, don’t I remember reading on Farmgirl Susan’s blog about how turtles love strawberries and in some parts of the country will even crawl into your strawberry patch to have a little nom-fest?  And wasn’t there a precious photo of a baby turtle in the strawberry patch to boot?

Oh, yes.  Yes, there was. 

And then I got to thinking, well that’s just the preciousest thing I’ve ever seen and isn’t it sad that I don’t have a turtle to test that on.

Oh, wait.  I totally do.  Her name is Shelly.  And she lives in my family’s living room.

So I went into the living room to harass  horrify delight Shelly with my presence, lifted her out of her cage, and brought her into the kitchen for a lil’ experiment.

Here's Shelly all self-conscious, pretending to be all, "Oh, I care nothing for this strawberry feast you've set before me."

And here she is all of ten seconds later, eating her strawberries with ferocity while I'm all, "Yeah, guess who wants my berries NOW, hmm?" Taunting turtles. It's the American way.

Moral of the story?  Turtles like strawberries and you probably do, too, so make this sauce.  Some of you might want to serve it over ice cream or waffles.  To you, I say, holy crap that is a fucking fantastic idea.  Others will do as I do, and drizzle it all over their bodies and then wait for their own The Boy to come ho–I MEAN–eat it straight like applesauce, or enjoy it alongside some thick yogurt.  Wholesome things.  Like that.

All-Natural, No Refined Sugar Strawberry Rhubarb Sauce

Ingredients:
1/2 cup water
1/4 to 1/3 cup maple syrup (Agave would work well, too, as would honey.  If you’re going to use cane sugar, bump up the amount to about 1/2 cup.)
2 T cornstarch
2 T lemon juice
dash salt
1 bunch rhubarb, sliced (about 4 cups)
1 quart strawberries (mine were little so I left them whole)

Directions:
Combine the water, maple syrup, lemon juice, salt, rhubarb, and strawberries in a saucepot and turn the heat to medium-high.  Cook, stirring occasionally, until the rhubarb is soft, about 5-7 minutes.  Mix the cornstarch with 3 Tablespoons cold water and stir in, cooking for an additional 3 minutes, or until thickened.  Remove from heat and let cool–keeps in an airtight container for about a week, longer if you’re feeling like a daring misfit.  And I know you are.

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New feature, misfits!  “My Favoritest Stuffs and Things!”

Oprah I am not.

And a slammin’ giveaway, too, with details below.  But first, a story about my disturbing gardening soundtrack.

So there I was in the cabbage patch, weeding in my gardening tutu (oh, don’t act so surprised), when I was not-so-gently reminded that, oh right, I have a gardening soundtrack.

Now I don’t mean a playlist (per se), though that’s really awesome and I want to hear about yours if you have one.  No, my gardening soundtrack comes to me free of charge, courtesy of the “children” across the way and their “dog.”  Quotation marks totally necessary, misfits.

One day, in an incident which I won’t go into but which I’d conservatively describe as, oh, MILDLY FUCKING DISTURBING, I discovered that what I thought was the dog was actually the children, and what I thought was the children was actually the dog.  Allow me to explain.

The dog sounds like a child.  Really.  And the children …well…they don’t sound like children.

I present you with an Authentic Bad Mama Genny List of the things the children across the way sound like:
*A mama wolf tearing off the faces of her wolf pups.
*The proverbial chicken trying to cross the road and getting caught in the spokes of a bicycle.
*Arnold Schwarzenegger getting caught by Maria Shriver.
*A malfunctioning rape whistle set to a disco beat.
*Beautiful music, if beautiful music really sucked.
*The squealing of a pig eating a hot pocket which is boiling lava hot in the middle, thanks to the marvel of microwave cookery (Oh, Jim Gaffigan, you ARE the living end!)
*That weird life-size Barbie doll getting melted by a giant magnifying glass…if weird life-size Barbie doll could scream.  Though that would never happen.  If weird life-size Barbie doll COULD scream, she’d be doing it all the time because OH MY EFFING HELL I AM WEARING PLASTIC HIGH HEELS ALL THE TIME AND ACCORDING TO THE ANATOMICALLY INCORRECT PROPORTIONS OF MY GUMMY THIGHS I DO NOT POSSESS THE QUADRICEP STRENGTH TO MANAGE THIS.
*Two zombies.  Making sweet, sweet zombie love.  Yeah, I went there.

And speaking of zombies (HELLZ YES, MISFITS, WE’RE TOTALLY SPEAKING OF ZOMBIES! AGAIN! ), it’s time for the first ever edition of my Favoritest Stuffs and Things!  Let’s get rolling, shall we?

1. Plants vs. Zombies

Aww, heartwarming. It's good to know the zombies share my feelings about handwritten correspondence.

This is the computer game (gifted to me by my spooky-awesome friend Leonard) that I played for four straight hours the other night.  When I went to bed, my eyes burned.  From not blinking enough.  Which, in case you were wondering, is the new definition of rock bottom.
According to the site, the premise is as follows:
“A mob of zombies is about to invade your home, and your only defense is an arsenal of zombie-zapping plants. Think fast and plant faster to stop the zombies dead in their tracks. And with five game modes to dig into, the fun never dies!”

Misfits…did somebody say “plants”?  And, did somebody say, “zombies”?  And, were those two somebodies actually just one somebody using the two terms in the same sentence?

I have seen the mountaintop, misfits!  I have been to the Promised Land!

Try it free or buy it online for yourself or your favorite misfit homesteader here.

2.   Stuck on This City Decorative Tape

Photo from Modcloth.com

I know many of all y’alls are urban homesteaders just trying to keep it real.  Somehow I feel that this decorative cityscape tape would help one to keep something real.  Just a feeling.

3.  The “Flying Fuck” Helicopter

Photo from gadgetsandgear.com

Misfits, it’s an actual flying “fuck.”  So you can now, literally, “give a flying fuck”.  I’m sorry, I…I…I’m choking up a little.  It’s just…so beautiful.

4.  Amanda Wachob Tattoo

Photo from AmandaWachobTattoo.com

These tattoos–which totally look UNLIKE tattoos, and more like brilliant watercolor paintings, are blowing my wittle mind.  Check out the temporary distilled water tattoos, too–the design is formed by your blood, and disappears as it heals.

5.  Sunny Submersible Ice Cube Set

Photo from modcloth.com

These precious yellow submarine ice cubes…oooh!  Last year, The Boy bought me an ice cube tray that produced Titanic and iceberg-shaped ice.  In return for his awesomeness, he got a summer of my endlessly re-enacting the disaster in my gin gimlets while falsetto-ing “My Heart Will Go On” and promising Leo to never let go, only to go, “Oops! I let go!” two seconds later.

The Boy, he is a patient man.

But what if you wanted to have your own whimsical undercocktail adventures?  What if you wanted to falsetto “Yellow Submarine” whilst seriously pissing off   testing the patience of   entertaining a “The Boy” of your own?

Well, that’s where my giveaway comes in, my twisted little kumquat pastries!

Leave a comment on this post telling me what’s on your gardening soundtrack/playlist, and you’ll be entered into a random drawing to win those ADORABLE little yellow submarine ice “cubes.”  Want an extra chance?  Follow me on Twitter for the first time, and leave a second comment here telling me that you did!  I’ll randomly draw a winner on Monday, July 11th at noon…and announce the lucky misfit shortly after.

Ta, you lovely hot messes, you!

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Today I send you, my merrymaking marshmallow-y misfits, off on your holiday weekends with this bit of…something.  Last night I fell asleep on the couch.  When I woke up in the middle of the night, I was filled with a sense of urgency.  Urgency to do…this.

Then I promptly forgot about it until an hour ago, when The Boy told me he liked my fruit.  I was just about to thank him for the compliment with a spontaneous “fruit” shimmy when I remembered–oh.  My fruit.  As in, the bananas I desecrated last night.  Right.

I’m guessing that last banana is there as the silent observer.  All I know is that at 4 AM, it was EXTREMELY important to me that he be left blank.

My art, MY ART, EET EES VERRYYY EEMPORTANTE!

Well, there you have it.  This is the way my brain works in the middle of the night.  Apparently.  Now if we could take this sort of twisted behavior and somehow re-orient it towards something constructi–

Nah.

Go get in trouble, darlings.  And then come back and tell me ALL about it!

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